


Living Dreams

by MaiKusakabe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Family, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 15:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10642797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: When Marco wakes up, he can tell that this is not the room in which he has been sleeping lately. No, this is the cabin that was destroyed alongside the rest of the Moby Dick over two years ago.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was born while I was talking to Black’ Victor Cachat over at ffnet. Originally, it was intended as my Christmas project, and it was meant to be… considerably shorter than it has turned out to be. Due to real life reasons, I couldn’t get it written by then, and hadn’t managed to get back to it until recently.
> 
> So here we are, I’m finally writing a type of story I’m a sucker for but which I’d never written before. I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> This hasn’t been beta-read.

When Marco wakes up, he can immediately tell that this is not the room in which he has been sleeping lately. He doesn’t need any light to know where he is, but he raises a hand and calls his fire anyway. The sight of his cabin greets his eyes. The cabin that was destroyed alongside the rest of the Moby Dick over two years ago.

_Not this again_ , Marco thinks in resignation. He can’t force himself to wake up, that has never worked in the past, but he prays every night to have a dreamless sleep. That doesn’t work either.

He expects Thatch or Ace to burst through his door at any moment to talk about some meaningless thing, or maybe a nurse dropping by to ask him to go take the booze away from Pops. Those are things that used to bother Marco back when they happened, things he now misses dearly, and his mind likes to remind him of how many moments he wasted being annoyed at his family when he should have treasured them.

A general look around the room doesn’t tell Marco much aside from the fact that this is a memory from after the Whitebeard Pirates had already acquired the Moby Dick. That is a very long span of time, so Marco stands up and goes to check the calendar he used to keep on his desk. Maybe it’s masochistic on his part, but he wants to know which memories his mind has seen fit to torture him with tonight.

His blood turns to ice when he sees the date.

_Not again_ , he repeats uselessly in his mind. He has dreamed of this day more times than he can count, the date burned into his soul, and yet it’s as if he never has enough of reminding himself of how stupid he was, how everything…

The room has gone completely dark without his fire, reminding him that it is night in the dream. Marco shakes himself out of his dread and bolts out of the room. It’s useless, he never makes it on time. The most he’s ever managed is to arrive just in time to _witness_ …

Marco darts through the ship’s hallways, barely dodging the few people still awake and ignoring their exclamations of surprise or complaints. He kicks the door out, not bothering to stop to open it, and keeps running to a place he could never look at the same way during the few months he still had the Moby Dick as a home.

It doesn’t matter, of course. Even if he makes it on time, it will all be gone in the morning. Maybe it’s better if he stops, if he doesn’t go he won’t give himself false hope. But no, he _can’t_ stop, because even if it’s just a dream and he’ll be barely holding himself together come morning, he can’t just stand by and _let it happen_.

Thatch is sitting in the middle of the deck, distractedly looking up at the sky with the devil fruit by his side and his guard completely down. (Of course his guard is down, why _wouldn’t_ it be down when he’s _home_ and nobody _knows_ …).

Marco doesn’t think. He launches himself forward and his bare foot collides with Teach’s shoulder, the shoulder of the arm holding the knife _so close to Thatch_.

Teach skids back and crashes against a nearby wall. Thatch turns around suddenly, and he lets out a horrified exclamation when he sees them. Marco isn’t sure what Thatch is looking at, whether it’s at Marco himself standing before him, or at Teach and the knife still clutched in his hand.

Marco doesn’t stop to figure it out.

He stalks up to Teach, cold fury the strongest fuel he could have for his actions, and punches him when Teach opens his mouth, before he can get a single word out. Marco doesn’t want to know what this scumbag has to say (he can imagine, he was _there_ when this piece of shit dared to call himself Pops’ son at Marineford). Marco reaches down, grabs Teach’s face with his left hand, and slams it on the ground with enough strength for the wood to break with the impact.

This Teach is weak. He’s not the man empowered by that accursed fruit, he’s not the man who stole _Pops’_ power. This Teach is the coward who killed Thatch as the first step of the mad rush for power that destroyed so many lives.

Marco blocks the knife aimed at his face with his free hand, grabbing Teach’s wrist. He uses as much strength as he can muster to crush the bones. He thinks Teach screams, but he isn’t sure. Marco is sure, however, that Teach is thrashing and trying to free himself, and he can see Teach’s mouth moving. Marco lets his power absorb any damage and releases Teach’s ruined wrist.

Marco feels Teach’s nose break under his knuckles with the next punch.

_Good._

Marco concentrates on the skull, and presses his other hand to Teach’s throat to keep him in place. Marco is using his whole body for that, really. He isn’t sure when he transformed his feet, but now he has his talons dug into Teach’s flesh deep enough that he is touching bone with one of them.

He keeps punching Teach. He doesn’t say a word, there are no words to express the damage this monster has wrought, the pain he has caused, and Marco wouldn’t even _think_ of trying to reason with him.

Marco becomes aware of the fog that has blocked the rest of the world when it starts to dissipate. He actually hears the sound of his fist hitting Teach’s disfigured face, and it’s then that he realizes Teach is no longer breathing. His presence is gone.

_If only I could really do this._

But, despite the silence, Marco is suddenly aware of the many presences surrounding him. It’s curious how his brain can reproduce the particular feeling of others’ presences so accurately.

Marco stands up, dislodging his talons from Teach’s corpse before transforming them back into feet. They are covered in blood, just like his hands are. And probably his face, too; Marco can feel something wet there. Marco doesn’t want anything of that monster touching him, but unfortunately he can’t exactly wipe it off in his current state. At least knowing that it is Teach’s blood is satisfying.

Marco looks around. Thatch is standing at the same place where Marco found him, the accursed fruit resting innocently by his feet, but there are many other people here now. Marco can see Fossa and Curiel keeping the rest of the present crew back, and Vista takes a step forward.

They all look shocked. Horrified, even.

Marco holds back the impulse to shake his head. It figures that the one time he manages to kill Teach his mind-created family would be horrified by it instead of cheering at the welcome change.

Well, the last thing Marco feels like dealing with is his mind showing him his family’s horror and rejection because he killed _Teach_. And, out of all of them, the one he wants to see it from the least is Thatch. As much as Marco cherishes the painful memories he often remembers in these dreams, there is a limit to how much suffering he is willing to inflict upon himself, and this is far beyond it.

Before Vista can reach him, Marco starts walking and pushes right past Vista and towards the crowd. They all part, letting him pass with apprehensive and worried looks, and Marco walks through the broken doorway and back into the hallway.

Dream or not, he is getting rid of all this blood.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco’s dreams have a way of being completely annoying even when they are merciful to him. The task is enough to distract him from thoughts about whatever his subconscious has in store for him next, but at the same time it’s an extremely tedious and slow thing to do. Marco has removed his blood-splattered pajamas and now he is trying to meticulously rub the blood off his skin in the shower. The only reason his skin hasn’t turned pink from the repeated scrubbing is his devil fruit power.

It’s at that exact moment that Marco’s reprieve ends.

It has been over two years, but Marco will never forget that presence. He takes a deep breath to center himself, sets the sponge down, turns the water off, and steps out of the shower stall to collect a towel. He can’t avoid having a discussion about Teach’s death with a figment of his imagination incarnating Pops, but he’s at least not doing it while naked. Marco wraps the towel around his waist and sits on one of the large benches of the bathroom he is surprised to remember in such detail.

There is a spot of blood left under his left pinky’s nail, and Marco has barely started to pick at it when the door opens.

Marco doesn’t look up. He has seen disappointed looks on Pops’ face over many things in the past two years (Marco’s many failures, mostly), but he refuses to see it over this.

There is a drawn out silence before Pops takes a long breath and speaks.

“I’ve heard what happened.” His voice sounds odd —or Marco’s subconscious tells him it’s odd; after two years some details are hard to remember— and somewhat distant. Worried. Sad.

A sudden thought crosses Marco’s mind. What if Thatch didn’t realize what Teach was attempting to do? What if, even if he _did_ , that doesn’t matter? It’s their crew’s rule, isn’t it? Whoever kills a crewmember dies. Maybe that is why Pops sounds the way he does, because he has known Marco for so long and he regrets how things will end. A hysterical laugh threatens to escape Marco. The only time he manages to kill Teach, and he’s going to die for it. At _Pops’_ hands.

His mind has truly outdone itself this time.

“Look at me, Marco,” Pops says, and it’s… not an order. And yet it’s not a request either. It’s almost as if he’s pleading with Marco.

Curious. Marco thinks that it will be easier for Pops to kill him if they aren’t looking at each other. Oh, but this isn’t Pops; it’s his mind, and it probably wants to show Marco a new way in which he can be a disappointment.

Yes, that makes sense.

Slowly, Marco raises his head until his eyes meet Pops’. It’s like a punch to the gut. He can’t describe Pops’ expression, can’t tell apart the many emotions that seem to have gathered there, but that is certainly not the expression Marco expected. There is no trace of the disgust and the disappointment Marco has become so familiar with over the past two years. This is an entirely new look.

“Are you going to kill me?” Marco asks, hoping to cut things short.

Pops stumbles back, and this time _he_ is the one who looks as if he’s just been punched in the gut.

“What?” Pops asks with barely a thread of voice.

Marco shrugs, doing his best to stay calm, because if he lets his guard down he will break down, try to reason with Pops, and beg him to understand. That never works, so Marco won’t do it again. He won’t die crying like the pathetic excuse for a son that he is, not even in his own head.

“You said it yourself: you’ve heard what happened. Isn’t it the rule of the crew?”

“Thatch said Teach was trying to kill him,” Pops replies, his eyes wide and fixed on Marco.

Marco resists the urge to squirm, both because of the stare and the unexpected reply. That isn’t what was supposed to come out of Pops’ mouth, it’s not an accusation. It breaks the pattern. Marco isn’t sure how to respond now to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“He was,” Marco says with a nod. “So, if you’re not here to kill me,” Pops hasn’t said as much, he might do it anyway, “then _why_ are you here?”

Pops seems at a loss for words, still staring at Marco. Marco could almost swear that Pops is breathing faster now.

The silence stretches, and Marco decides to go back to picking at the blood stuck under his fingernail because he doesn’t know what to do with this Pops, one who doesn’t seem to despise him but who isn’t reenacting any of Marco’s many good memories of him either.

“Thatch said it was as if you couldn’t hear him. Or anyone who showed up. He said it was as if you’d lost your mind.”

_Oh_.

“You could say I did,” Marco replies, striving for nonchalance.

“Mind explaining that?” Pops asks, and he seems to be back on his feet now that Marco is following the conversation.

_Fucking brain_.

Marco decides to reply, but he refuses to play along. He’s too tired for mind games, even his own. _Especially_ his own.

“What were you expecting?” he asks, meeting Pops’ eyes again. “I can’t keep doing this forever.”

“You can’t keep doing what?” Pops asks, looking genuinely confused.

Marco has had enough.

“This!” he yells, standing up and gesturing around at the ridiculously detailed bathroom. He can even make out the silhouettes of dicks drawn on the large mirror if he squints. “It’s hard enough to try to keep everyone together! And then, every time I close my eyes I have the past reminding me of everything we’ve lost or—!” Marco waves quickly and repeatedly in Pops’ direction, looking for the right word. “Or a _ghost_ reminding me of how much of a failure I am!”

Marco storms out of the bathroom, intent on burying himself in his remembered bed until morning pulls him out of this nightmare.

He is surprised when Pops’ ghost doesn’t follow him.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco wakes up and he is still in that same cabin, only that this time the light of what is probably mid-morning illuminates it.

_What the hell?_

He groans, turns around and covers his head with his pillow.

There is a knock on the door, and Marco can sense Vista outside. It’s a relief that it is him, because Marco feels no guilt ignoring someone who will be there in the morning.

“Marco, I can sense you in there.”

“Then why the fuck do you knock?”

“It’s polite,” Vista replies, opening the door. Marco didn’t bother to lock it earlier, there is no point; people in dreams can do annoying things like walking through walls, and it’s not like a door would stop any of his siblings in real life anyway.

Marco doesn’t turn around even when he hears the door close behind Vista. If he keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend he’s awake.

“What’s wrong with you?” Vista asks.

“Nothing.”

Vista scoffs.

“Oh, yes, because this is your normal behavior. You went berserk last night,” Marco bites his tongue to avoid snapping anything useless like how Teach deserves much worse (Marco won’t just beat him up if he ever has  another chance to kill him), “you’re acting like a _teenager_ , and Pops—“ oh, here it is, a second-hand account of how screwed-up he is “—looks very worried.”

“Looks?” Marco asks, unable to hold back the question despite how irrelevant the whole affair is.

“Whatever you two talked about, he didn’t say a word, but it’s clear he hasn’t slept at all.”

Oh, _there_ is the guilt. It’s impressive how intense it is, given that this is a dream. Where is the blurred feeling? Where is the lack of continuity? And the lack of awareness that allows Marco to believe the lie until he blinks awake?

_No, fuck, no_ , Marco thinks, but it’s too late. The thought has come, and it won’t leave until Marco proves that, no matter how strange, this _is_ a dream.

Marco rolls out of bed and ignores Vista to go get a pair of pants from the closet. That’s as far as he goes in getting dressed before he walks to the door.

“Where are you going?” Vista asks when Marco opens the door.

“I have to do something,” Marco says, taking a moment to remember where, exactly, he has to go. It may have been two years, but Marco spent a very long time living on this ship, and the memory comes back easily.

Marco doesn’t want this imaginary Vista getting in his way, so he takes off at a run down the hallway. Vista follows, of course, but Marco has always been faster (and since when do real facts matter in dreams?), and he only needs a short margin.

He enters the storage room, slams the door closed, and goes straight for the shelf where he remembers they used to keep seastone handcuffs. Marco closes one around his left wrist, grabs his right hand and snaps the forearm in two.

The shot of pain and surprise that courses through his body sends Marco to his knees.

When he comes back to himself, Vista is yelling something at him and trying keys on the cuff around Marco’s wrist, but Marco isn’t listening. It hurts. Why does it hurt? _There is no pain in dreams_.

But it _hurts_.

_It fucking hurts_.

Marco slumps forward, resting his head on Vista’s shoulder, and he starts to shake.

_Is this a dream?_

 

* * *

 

 

Vista has to hold Marco up when Marco slumps, to stop him from falling. Vista can feel chills running up and down his body. He is scared — _terrified_ — and worried by what he has seen in the last few hours.

Vista finally finds the right key, and blue fire appears on Marco’s arm as soon as the seastone stops touching his skin, but Marco doesn’t react.

Vista holds Marco by the shoulders and pushes him back to have a look at his face. Marco has a lost expression, and he is clearly not looking at Vista.

“Marco,” Vista calls him, but there is no reply.

Vista tries not to think about how unnerving it is to see Marco like this. He is listless, and doesn’t even react when Vista stands and pulls him to his feet. Vista has to pick him up when it becomes clear that Marco won’t walk on his own.

“What’s going on?” Vista asks, at a loss about what to do.

Marco doesn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate has been kicked out of the deck and ordered to get some sleep by very disgruntled nurses, but he can’t make himself rest. All he sees when he closes his eyes is Marco’s disturbing face from last night, and he can hear Marco’s words. His disconcerting rant before he stormed out of the bathroom, and that horrifying question.

_“Are you going to kill me?”_

Newgate shudders again when he hears Marco’s dead voice in his mind. It was as if Marco had resigned himself to that fate when he asked, as if he truly _believed_ that Newgate would kill him. Last night is going to feature in Newgate’s nightmares forever.

He senses Vista and Marco in the hallway, and he stands up to go talk to them, hoping that Vista has managed to learn what’s going on.

He doesn’t expect to find Vista carrying Marco, and he doesn’t like the lost look on Marco’s eyes.

“What happened?” Newgate asks, approaching them.

Vista looks up at him, and while he looks lost, the expression on his face is nothing like Marco’s.

“I’m not sure,” Vista says, and he looks down at Marco. “Can we go inside? I don’t think he should be alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

To say the crew is worried would be an understatement. The story of what happened last night has spread throughout the crew, and everybody is understandably concerned. They are shocked by what Teach attempted to do, and as for Marco’s actions… bewilderment would be the best word.

In Thatch’s case , he isn’t doing any better. He could have died last night — _would_ have died; he was too zoned out to have reacted in time to protect himself— and that is bad enough. But then, seeing Marco lose control like that was terrifying. By the time Thatch reacted last night, Marco was already on Teach, and there was no stopping him.

Oh, Teach would most likely have died for that stunt, but the circumstances have shaken the crew up. And then there is Pops, who looked worried and exhausted enough this morning for the nurses to kick him out to bed.

And nobody has seen Marco today.

“What the hell happened to him, anyway?” Ace, who hasn’t moved from Thatch’s side since he heard about what happened, asks. Thatch knows that Ace feels responsible about what almost happened to him, even if he hasn’t said as much himself. Teach was part of the second division, after all.

Thatch sighs.

“I have no idea. I’ve seen Marco angry plenty of times, but never like _that_.”

Vista went to talk to Marco a couple hours ago, but he hasn’t come back yet. Thatch hopes that he has gotten through Marco’s thick skull and they are talking about whatever is going on.

 

* * *

 

 

When Marco wakes up, he isn’t in the room where he has been sleeping lately, but he isn’t in his old cabin either. It takes him a moment to recognize the large room as _Pops’ cabin_. Marco freezes.

_Still here?_ He thinks, forcing himself to keep his breathing even. _This can’t be happening_.

It takes Marco a moment to realize that he isn’t alone in the room. Pops and Vista are here, Pops sitting on his chair and Vista on a large crate.

Marco takes a deep breath, aware that they know he is awake. He can’t fake sleep with his eyes open.

_This isn’t real_.

“Marco?” Pops calls him, sounding worried. “How are you feeling?”

Marco sits up on the bed. He needs to get out of here.

“I’m fine,” he assures them, trying to sound as steady as possible.

Vista scoffs.

“The hell you are. You snapped your arm two hours ago.”

_Oh, that._ That actually happened, didn’t it?

“I’m fine,” Marco repeats, moving to sit properly on the bed, his feet dangling from the side (the damn thing is too tall), “you know those things don’t last on me.” He scans the floor, looking for his sandals before remembering he never put them on.

“Physically, you may be fine, but you’re not okay,” Pops say in an extremely worried voice that stops Marco before he can stand up.

He doesn’t want to have this conversation. If this is an extremely elaborate nightmare where he, for some reason, can feel intense pain, then he doesn’t want to make things worse. And if it _isn’t_ a nightmare, as a too large part of his mind has decided to hope… Well, in that case there is no reason to worry them, because the danger is over.

“I am okay, really,” Marco repeats, managing to sound much more certain of himself this time. Those two years of staying strong for others’ sake come in handy now.

Marco jumps down from the bed.

“I think I should go get dressed,” he adds, casually looking down at himself. But not _too_ casually; he’s trying to make it sound as if the thought just crossed his mind, not as an excuse to flee the room as quickly as possible. He starts walking to the door.

“What happened with Teach?” Vista asks, straight to the point.

Marco freezes.

_Ah_.

He doesn’t turn around.

“I saw him about to kill Thatch and I stopped him. I thought that was clear already?” Marco replies, managing to keep his voice even. He refuses to lose his cool over this again. If he does, he’ll end up saying something that he shouldn’t. Again. If this is a dream, his brain will find a way to use his words to hurt him, and if it isn’t… well, there is no point in any of those words.

“It is,” Pops says, his voice clearly disapproving ( _well, that’s more like other dreams,_ a part of Marco thinks bitterly), “but we’re worried about how you seemed to lose yourself last night.”

“I don’t like traitors,” Marco says, his voice far colder than he would have liked. “It won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before leaving the room. He doesn’t know how long he can talk about this without snapping something.

 

* * *

 

 

Vista looks over at Pops, and sees the same worry he’s feeling reflected in Pops’ eyes.

“What just happened?” he asks, because Marco has gone from worryingly frantic two hours ago to a level of frozen calm that Vista doesn’t remember ever seeing in him.

Pops shakes his head and looks at the open door.

“I have no idea,” he says. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

That’s not comforting.

“He’s too stubborn to talk to us, isn’t he?” Vista asks, though he already knows the answer.

Pops shakes his head again.

“Give him time to sort through it himself. He might talk then.”

Pops doesn’t sound very sure of his own words, and they aren’t as reassuring as Pops no doubt intends them to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco dresses up in clothes that were destroyed two years ago and starts looking through the cabin. If he is going to play this as if it’s real, then he needs to know what has been going on, what pieces of normalcy were lost with Thatch’s death.

Marco’s clothes hang in the closet, all his old books fill the bookcase to nearly bursting, and there is a bag of toiletries thrown to one side of the door.

He finds what he needs on the desk. There is a rolled-up map placed on top of a log. Marco sets the map aside, sits on the chair, and starts reading through events from a lifetime ago.

 

* * *

 

 

Vista has promised Pops he will learn if there was something wrong with Marco before last night, but he also has promised to ease the crew’s worries. To that second end, he goes with Marco’s maybe-lie and answers any questions about last night by saying that Marco panicked when he saw Teach about to kill Thatch. As for Marco not showing up today, he tells a half lie and says Marco isn’t in the best of moods after last night.

Everybody in the crew knows that Marco tends to brood in his cabin when he’s in a bad mood.

Little by little, the atmosphere in the crew goes from worried sick to sadness and horrified incredulity over Teach’s actions. Vista won’t think about that, not yet.

It’s not long before Vista starts to hear useful information. A few people saw Marco running last night, before everything, and they all have at least a suggestion to explain it (Marco having forgotten something and running across the scene by chance seems to be the most common one). And then, there is the mysteriously broken door. Nobody saw how that happened, and while doors tend to break for many reasons on this ship, Vista has the grim certainty that Marco did it.

He remembers something Pops told him earlier.

_“He asked me if I was going to kill him, and he seemed to think I would. And, for a moment there, I’d swear he also seemed to think I wasn’t real. He called me a ghost.”_

Vista drags a hand down his face. None of this makes a lick of sense.

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate walks out of his room, decided to order the nurses away if necessary because there is no way he’ll fall asleep, and he goes to the mess hall. It’s still lunch time, if a bit late, and the place is only half-full.

He fills a plate without paying much attention to the food he chooses and goes to sit where Thatch and Ace are. Ace waves at him with his fork, too busy eating, but Thatch doesn’t do anything. Thatch has the devil fruit he found yesterday on the table before him, and he’s staring forlornly at it.

“How are you feeling, son?” Newgate asks. Last night, Thatch was mostly in shock, but now he’s had time to process what happened.

Thatch sighs.

“I’m not sure.” He looks up at Newgate. “Is one of these things really worth betraying everything you know for?”

“No, not to me, but who knows what was going on through Teach’s mind.”

Thatch glances down again and pokes the fruit.

“How’s Marco?” Thatch asks after a short silence. Ace stops eating and looks up.

Newgate opens his mouth, a lie ready (Marco is fine, but he’s shocked and angry over what happened and needs time to think), but he realizes that Thatch is one of the few people who won’t believe those words.

“I don’t know,” Newgate finally admits. “He says he’s fine.”

“You don’t believe him,” Thatch says, and it’s not a question.

“No, I don’t,” Newgate agrees, but he refuses to mention any of the events from earlier today. Whatever happened, whatever drove Marco to block his powers and _break his own arm_ , is not something the crew should know, and it certainly isn’t something Newgate is going to reveal to anyone before he has any more information himself.

“Did he say anything?” Thatch insists, and Newgate has to choose his words carefully.

“He said he reacted like he did because he hates traitors. I don’t think he was lying about that,” he adds, remembering the cold voice in which Marco said it. No, Marco certainly wasn’t lying when he said those words, but Newgate can’t think of any experience that would prompt such a visceral reaction from Marco, and that is one of the many things that concern him now. It’s even more worrying that said concern isn’t anywhere near the most pressing one on Newgate’s mind.

_“Are you going to kill me?”_

Newgate senses Marco approaching before he enters the mess hall. When Marco walks in, the volume in the room goes down considerably, and nobody even pretends that they aren’t looking at him. Marco ignores them all, walking to the food with a book under his arm. It’s common for Marco to read while he’s eating, especially if he’s invested in the book, but Newgate feels that there is something horribly wrong about it today as he watches Marco set his tray on an empty table and sit down, his back to Newgate’s table.

Thatch sighs and stands up, grabbing his still untouched plate before moving away from the table. As he walks towards Marco, everybody around the room starts talking again, a sure sign that Thatch is glaring around at them.

Newgate would like to go, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits back and watches how Thatch has to tap Marco on the shoulder to draw his attention (as if Marco didn’t know that Thatch was there). Marco turns around, a calm expression on his face that looks as carefully crafted as the one he gave Newgate and Vista this morning. It sends chills down Newgate’s back to see it. This time yesterday, Marco was teasing Thatch about a mishap with his hair, and now he’s looking at him as if there is nowhere Marco would like to be less than next to Thatch.

And Newgate has no idea how, when or _why_ Marco even learned to put on such a face.

Thatch sits down, talking cheerfully as if he hasn’t noticed Marco’s cold reception —but he must have, because few people know Marco better than Thatch does— and sets his food down. Then, when Thatch turns to start eating, Newgate sees something that sends all the air out of his lungs. For a moment, just a flicker in time before the calm is back, there is a look of something that couldn’t be called anything but _utter grief_ on Marco’s face. He looks at Thatch as if he is a painful sight to witness, something he missed dearly.

Marco looks at Thatch almost as if he is the ghost of someone dear to him.

A ghost. _Again_.

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of the meal Newgate has decided he can’t follow his own advice. He stands up right after Marco does, and walks out of the mess hall behind him.

“Marco? Can we talk?”

Marco has stopped, and he turns around. There is that horrible calm expression again.

“Of course. What is it?”

“In private,” Newgate clarifies, and he is sure that he doesn’t imagine the way Marco tenses for a moment.

“Is it urgent? I am a bit busy, I still haven’t written down the information from yesterday’s battle,” Marco says, the excuse too precise to be nothing but that: an excuse.

“That’s not urgent, this is,” Newgate insists.

He sees clearly how Marco doesn’t want to come, and for a moment Newgate is sure that Marco will just turn around and leave. It wouldn’t be the first time that Marco leaves because he doesn’t want to talk about something. But he doesn’t. Instead, Marco sighs and gestures for Newgate to go ahead.

That is not the reaction Newgate expected. He was actually counting on having to fight Marco to convince him to talk. It wouldn’t be the first time, either, and this time Marco certainly needs to let some tension out.

Nodding, Newgate leads the way to his cabin, and they remain silent until the door is closed behind them.

“What’s going on with you, Marco?”

“It’s nothing,” Marco says, and at least that is predictable. Newgate wishes Marco wouldn’t be predictable in this part of the conversation.

“It isn’t nothing,” Newgate says, moving to sit down on his bed. He could remain standing and block the door, but if Marco decides he wants to leave, he’ll just kick a hole in the wall. “I saw how you looked at Thatch.”

Marco raises his eyebrows, and he almost manages to look naturally skeptical.

“How I looked at him?”

“It reminded me of something you said last night,” Newgate continues, and catches the slight tensing of Marco’s body. “Why did you call me a ghost?”

Marco doesn’t reply immediately, and Newgate half-expects him to turn to leave now. He has the expression that always precedes that action. Newgate prepares to stop him, but it’s unnecessary.

“It’s irrelevant,” Marco finally says.

“Irrelevant enough for you to speak as if you didn’t believe our conversation was real?” Newgate insists, and he ignores the echo of Marco’s voice in his head calling himself a failure. He fights to keep his voice even as he continues. “Irrelevant enough for you to believe I’d _kill you_?”

There is a long beat of silence before Marco slumps forward.

“Can’t you just leave it? It really doesn’t matter,” he insists, his voice so _wrong_ that it only increases Newgate’s worry. Marco doesn’t sound defeated. Ever. Except for now, it would seem.

“Marco… _son_ , I’m worried. You’re clearly going through something bad and you’re trying to keep everybody away. Let me help.”

Marco looks as if he’s been punched now, a look that settles on his face at the word ‘son’. Newgate wants to reach out for him, but he is afraid Marco _will_ bolt if he does.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Marco says finally, and he sounds certain of it.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know _I_ wouldn’t believe it if someone told me. I’d think they’d gone crazy.”

That does nothing to alleviate Newgate’s worries. After so many decades in the Grand Line, Marco is willing to give every possibility a chance before discarding it. That he knows he wouldn’t give this, whatever this is, even that…

“But you’re right,” Marco says suddenly, surprising Newgate. “I’m not fine, and I doubt I can pull this off for much longer. I’m not succeeding even now or you wouldn’t have dragged me here.” Marco smiles then, but it’s a bitter and self-deprecating expression that Newgate hates seeing on his face.

“Does that mean you’ll tell me?” Newgate asks, hopeful but cautious, because this is Marco he is talking to.

“No, it means that I…” Marco hesitates, but the way he looks upwards tells Newgate that he is just looking for the right words to express himself. Newgate waits. “Let’s say I’m going to prove I’m not crazy first.”

Newgate doubts he would ever think Marco is crazy, but instead of that he just nods.

“Very well. How do you intend to do that?”

Marco sticks his tongue out for a moment, another one of the tells that indicate he is thinking, and not one of the ones that he uses when coming up with a lie.

“You know that devil fruit Thatch found?” Marco asks, and there is some bitterness as he says the words ‘devil fruit’. “It’s called the Yami Yami no Mi. It’s a logia that doesn’t make the user intangible, but it allows them to nullify other devil fruit users’ powers.”

Newgate is shocked for a moment by the power that Marco has described before he realizes _why_ Marco has described it in the first place.

“You didn’t know what that fruit did yesterday,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“No, I didn’t,” Marco agrees. “I’d suggest you check it up on a devil fruit guide, though. Just to confirm that I’m not lying.”

Newgate doesn’t know what Marco is playing at, or why he thinks this knowledge might help Newgate believe that whatever is going on with him doesn’t mean Marco is crazy, but Newgate nods his agreement and allows Marco to leave.

He has a feeling that writing down the information about yesterday’s battle —or what happened with Teach— is the last thing in Marco’s mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco has decided that writing the information about the damn battle is as good a way as any to stop thinking about other more pressing matters, like how it’s become obvious that he can’t just brush what happened with Teach off and hope Pops will let it go. The problem is that Marco doesn’t remember much about that battle, and he doesn’t want to ask anyone. While it’s true that in the past he often asked around for other people’s accounts of any events that he wrote down, right now everybody is paying too much casual attention to him, and Marco doesn’t want to risk being cornered into talking about last night.

So he writes the sloppiest account of his life and adds a single line regarding Teach.

That done, Marco drops back on his bed and resigns himself to thinking. He has some ideas to prove that he hasn’t gone completely out of his mind, but they all have their drawbacks. Luffy won’t kick Crocodile’s ass until four weeks or so from now (and damn it, but didn’t Luffy say Ace saved his ass from some marine at Alabasta? Smoker was it? Marco will have to find a way to get over there. He just needs to prove he’s not crazy in time for that), and there were no noteworthy events before that, at least not ones that Marco remembers. There are some facts that Marco could use, things he didn’t know back then, but there are certain requirements to use them that he isn’t looking forward to.

And yet…

Marco groans. He isn’t looking forward to the immediate future. Not one bit. Except because he _is_ , because his whole family is here.

He drags his hands down his face.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Haruta, do you know of anyone in the crew who has a guide on devil fruits?” Newgate asks later that afternoon, when Haruta is using the arm of his seat to lounge lazily (everyone is making an effort to act normal while they try to figure out what happened and decide what to do about Teach’s body).

“No, but I could find out, why?” Haruta asks, looking up at him with curiosity.

“It’s just that I’ve been thinking: it’s too much of a coincidence that Teach chose to attack Thatch just when he got that fruit. I’d like to know what it does.” It’s not even a lie. While Newgate’s main reason for wanting to know is his conversation with Marco, he _does_ find the timing suspicious.

Haruta nods.

“Okay, I’ll ask around.” That said, Haruta jumps off the armrest and runs towards the closest group of people.

 

* * *

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Marco is right.

This also happens to be the only devil fruit guide on board and Haruta commented that nobody has asked for it in ages: not Marco, and not Teach. Which means two things: Teach already knew about the fruit, and Marco somehow acquired the knowledge overnight.

_Point one to Marco_ , Newgate thinks, even if he still doesn’t know what the point even means.

He catches Marco’s eye over breakfast the next morning, shows him the guide, and Marco gets the message and follows him out of the mess hall and into his cabin. The crew makes a very poor attempt at pretending that every single eye in the room isn’t following them as they leave.

“I suppose you won’t tell me how you knew, will you?”

Marco shakes his head.

“No, not yet. You could come up with loads of more plausible explanations for that knowledge.”

Newgate sighs, because given Marco’s caution about the whole affair, he might have a point. Even if Newgate still holds that he would never believe Marco has gone crazy.

“Very well,” Newgate acquiesces. “What’s the next step, then?”

Marco grimaces, and Newgate is extremely glad to see it. That’s the first entirely normal expression he has seen on Marco’s face in two days without counting the pensive ones.

It’s reassuring.

“You’ll have to tell Ace everything.”

Newgate blinks, surprised. That’s… well, not the _last_ thing he was expecting, but it certainly hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Ace? Why?”

“Because it concerns him, and…” Marco hesitates and looks down. “He’s not going to like it. The least he deserves is to know why I’m bringing it up.”

Newgate nods. Even if he has no idea what Marco is going on about, at least the reasoning makes sense. It’s the most sense Marco has made in two days.

 

* * *

 

 

Ace is… well, he isn’t sure how he is feeling. Shocked, perplexed, _worried sick_.

Back outside, he didn’t know why Pops asked him to come to his room, but he wasn’t expecting… _this_.

Marco is sitting on a chair on the corner, and Ace had been sneaking glances at him at first as Pops spoke. Now he’s staring at Marco openly, forget that manners dictate he should look at the person talking to him, because what. The. Hell.

Did Marco honestly expect Pops to _kill him_? Is that why Pops looked so horrible after their conversation? Did Marco really break his fucking arm for no reason?

_What the fuck is going on here?_

Once Pops is done telling Ace how Marco mysteriously learned what the devil fruit that started all of this does, Pops turns to Marco too.

“Well, I got Ace up to date. Now, if you’d tell us why it was necessary to bring him into all of this…?” Pops asks, and despite his words Ace can tell he isn’t annoyed. No, he’s _worried and desperate for answers_.

And, to be honest, so is Ace.

He has never seen Marco truly lose his cool, not even after Ace’s most spectacular attempts on Pops’ life, and now it seems as though Marco has lost all control over himself.

Marco stands up, a very serious expression on his face, and he meets Ace’s eyes.

“You know, under different circumstances, I’d punch you for being such an idiot,” Marco says, much to Ace’s bewilderment.

“I think that’s my line,” Ace finally manages.

Marco shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips for some reason, and meets his eyes again.

“Do you honestly think anyone here would give a fuck just because you’re Roger’s son?”

Ace freezes. His first instinct, once he regains control of his body, is to turn to Pops, but the utter shock on Pops’ face tells him that he didn’t tell Marco.

And then Marco is standing right before Ace, his entire frame trembling, fists clenched tight, and for a moment Ace thinks Marco is going to punch him despite his earlier words.

“Do you _really_ think,” Marco starts instead, and he sounds as though the words hurt him, “that you shouldn’t have been born?”

Ace stares up at Marco, his eyes wide, because that’s something he didn’t tell Pops. The only people who know of that particular doubt couldn’t have told Marco.

“Pops,” Marco says suddenly, turning around before Ace can muster the wits to speak.

_How…?_

 

* * *

 

 

“Yes?” Newgate asks, and it takes all of his willpower to focus on Marco.

Does Ace really think _that_? How can Ace think that?

“Can you call Crocus at the Twin Cape?” Marco asks, breaking Newgate’s train of thought.

“Yes,” Newgate replies. By now he has given up on trying to guess Marco’s next move. He doesn’t understand anything.

“Call him then. Luffy must have been there by now. A couple days ago I’d say. He got into a fight with Laboon, called it a draw and painted his flag on Laboon’s head to stop him from bashing his head against the Red Line. He promised they’d finish the fight when he gets back.”

Still numb and utterly confused, Newgate doesn’t ask how Marco could know such a thing and instead reaches for the den den mushi.

 

* * *

 

 

Marco is right. When Pops asked Crocus if a pirate named Luffy had been through, Crocus told them a story with everything that Marco had said.

“Did you develop powers like Madam Shyarly or something?” Ace asks after a drawn out silence in which he hasn’t managed to find another explanation.

“No.” It’s Pops who speaks, and when Ace looks at him the only way he can think to describe the look on Pops’ face is horrified realization. Pops is staring at Marco. “That first night, you didn’t think our conversation was real.” It’s not a question.

“I’m still not entirely sure it was. Or this one, for that matter,” Marco says with a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t fit on his face, gesturing at the room with his hands. “Do you understand my hesitance now? I was going to break it to you slowly, but then I realized someone should be at Alabasta in a few weeks or…” Marco shakes his head and looks down. “Or nothing. I refuse to think of the alternative.”

“Will you tell us what’s going on now?” Pops asks, no, _implores_.

Marco doesn’t look up, but he walks to the wall, sits down with his back to it, and he starts talking.

“That night Teach _did_ kill Thatch—“

 

* * *

 

 

Newgate is far beyond horrified. He’s frozen in place, staring at Marco with wide eyes for so long and so intently that he only blinks when his eyes begin to hurt.

He can’t— _no_ , he doesn’t want to believe Marco’s words. They are words out of a nightmare, something that _couldn’t possibly happen_.

And yet, two nights ago, Marco was seen running towards where Thatch was and arrived _just in time_ to save Thatch’s life.

And afterwards… well, Ace asked the right question: either Marco has somehow developed seer powers or he _already knew_.

_“Are you going to kill me?”_

Newgate didn’t think that question could horrify him even more, but it turns out he was wrong.

“Marco,” Newgate starts, dreading the answer, “if you thought you were dreaming, why did you expect me to kill you?”

Marco still hasn’t looked up, but Newgate can see the grimace that could never be called a smile on his face all the same.

“Why?” Marco repeats bitterly. “I just told you what these past two years have been like, why _wouldn’t_ you do it?”

Newgate has had enough. He stands up and approaches Marco. It’s been a long time since Newgate noticed how _small_ Marco is, but as he kneels down before him he is hit again by the realization that, no matter how strong he acts, Marco has his limits.

He refuses to think of Marco calling himself a failure.

“All you have told me is that you’ve spent two horrible years trying your best to hold our family together. Why would I be angry with you?”

Marco finally looks up, his eyes wide in surprise, and Newgate doesn’t need a spoken answer. Marco has always been too harsh on himself.

“Ace,” Newgate says, his eyes still on Marco, “could you make sure nobody bothers us until tomorrow? Marco needs to rest.”

“Yeah,” Ace says, his voice a little off. He has a lot to think about, just like Newgate does. Things have to change if they want to avoid another future like the one Marco has told them about.

“Tell Vista to come,” Marco says before Ace can so much as take a step. “I scared him half to death yesterday; the least I can do is give him an explanation.”

“Tomorrow,” Newgate says. “You need to rest now.”

And Marco isn’t getting out of Newgate’s sight anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been years since Marco used Pops as a pillow, and yet he knows immediately where he is: curled up in his phoenix form on Pops’ chest. Pops has a hand over him, and his fingers are moving, rubbing at all the right spots to relax him.

“Have you slept at all?” Marco asks.

“I woke up a while ago. I’m too old to spend many nights awake.”

Marco transforms at those words and kneels up to meet Pops’ eyes. It’s a bit hard, but he manages.

“You’d better take good care of yourself, I refuse to let you die anytime soon.”

Pops’ eyes sadden, and Marco knows that he is remembering yesterday’s conversation.

“I won’t die.”

“And you’ll let me intervene next time you’re in a hard battle,” Marco demands, because he has spent over two years regretting that he obeyed Pops’ order to stand back against the Blackbeard Pirates.

It takes Pops a moment to respond.

“I will.”

“Good, because I’ll disobey you if you don’t.”

Pops surprises Marco by laughing, and the sound is so unexpected to Marco that tears gather in his eyes and he swallows back a sob. He hasn’t heard that laugh in over two years, and he didn’t think he’d ever hear it again.

Pops picks him up —Marco would have been so embarrassed by it _before_ — and presses him to his chest again, one of his large hands caressing Marco’s back.

“Hey, come on, you’re home now,” Pops says, soothing despite the clear worry in his voice, and Marco has to bite back another sob.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be completely sure this is real.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ace is leaning on the railing, staring out at sea. He has Marco’s story from yesterday running on repeat in his head. Thatch. Teach. Banaro. Marineford. Luffy. Pops. Marco. The crew.

All because of Ace’s pride, his impulsiveness and his stupid inability to back down from a fight.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

Ace turns to find Marco standing behind him. Ace wants to apologize, shit he wants to throw himself at Marco and swear he will never do something like that, but how do you apologize for ruining someone’s life?

“Pops let you out of his sight?” he asks instead.

“No. He can see us from his chair,” Marco says. He moves to lean on the railing next to Ace. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“What?”

“Marineford. It wasn’t your fault. We would’ve done the same thing for anyone.”

“Yeah, but the government wouldn’t have gone to war just for anyone,” Ace mutters. Marco didn’t say it, but Ace knows the only reason the government would go to war over _him_ is because of Roger’s blood.

“So? We’d assault Impel Down to get them out then,” Marco says with a sudden grin. “Luffy had the right idea; we should’ve gone straight for the prison anyway.”

Ace blinks, surprised at how easily Marco speaks of assaulting Impel Down, and then he registers the implication in Marco’s words.

“LUFFY DID _WHAT_?!” Ace yells. Marco didn’t mention _that_ yesterday.

“He got out, don’t worry. He even made friends there,” Marco says with an easy smile that Ace hadn’t seen since right after the battle that now seems ages ago.

Ace runs a hand down his face in frustration.

“You met him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. He’s an interesting kid. I like him,” Marco says and smiles fondly.

Ace feels immensely proud of his brother for managing to earn that kind of regard from Marco.

“And, speaking of Luffy,” Marco continues. “Pops is making up an excuse to send a ship to Paradise, Jaya probably, so you can drop by Alabasta and save his ass from this logia marine that is already fixated on capturing him.” Ace whistles, impressed by Luffy’s ability to get himself into trouble, and Marco chuckles. “But don’t stick around. Luffy has a battle there that he needs to fight on his own.”

Ace almost asks, but he decides he doesn’t want to know.

“You’re not coming?” he asks instead.

“Pops forbade it. Vista will be in charge.” Right, because they must have told Vista by now. “And,” Marco continues, resting a hand on Ace’s shoulder, “I’m going to order him to drill you on basic haki training. We all know you have the potential, and you’ll learn to use it even if it kills me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Vista sits down next to Marco at lunch. They have barely spoken so far. This morning Pops told Vista that horrifying story while Marco sat to one side and spoke only when it seemed that Pops couldn’t get the words out. Then, while Vista was still processing everything, Marco stood up and said they should check on Ace before Ace had too much time to brood.

And now here they are.

“How are you?” Vista asks lamely, because what are you supposed to say in a situation like this?

“I’m still sane, or so I think.”

Vista nods. Not much room for a conversation there.

“I’m leaving with a ship for Paradise in three days. Pops was going on about wanting some first-hand information on how things are over there. Ace is coming too.” That is what the crew will be told, because nobody else is going to learn about Marco’s situation. They have started to calm down around him now that Marco is acting more like himself.

“Keep the brat out of trouble.”

“He won’t leave my sight.”

“Hey!” Thatch exclaims from behind them, and Vista notices Marco’s hands tense on his cutlery for a moment. Because Thatch has been dead to Marco for years, and nobody has any plans of telling Thatch the truth.

Vista turns and holds back a grimace when he sees the devil fruit.

“Have you decided what to do with that thing?” he asks.

Marco takes a moment to turn around, but he appears composed when he does.

“I’m not eating it,” Thatch says, much to Vista’s surprise. He’s heard what that fruit does. “Pops figured out what it does. It’s supposed to disable other devil fruits, but the book didn’t say how. What if by using it I’m screwing over all our fruit users? So no, thanks,” Thatch says with a shrug, and surprises Vista further by offering the fruit to Marco. “You saved my ass, so it’s up to you to decide what to do with it.”

Marco accepts the fruit, and Vista just knows he will do his best to ensure that fruit doesn’t see the light of day ever again.

“Anyway,” Thatch continues, probably mistaking Marco’s seriousness for a reaction to the reminder of what almost happened. Thatch turns his brightest grin on Vista. “Vista, my man, I hear you’re going to—“

“No,” both Vista and Marco snap at the same time.

Thatch isn’t leaving the Moby Dick.

 

* * *

 

 

If anyone is surprised to see Marco sitting on Pops’ shoulder while they watch Vista’s ship leave they don’t say anything.

People begin to wander away until Pops and Marco are the only ones left by the railing.

“Pops,” Marco says.

“Yeah?”

“I may have intentionally left something out when I spoke to Ace, but I figured it’ll be best for everyone if he doesn’t have to wait for this.”

“Oh? And what is it?”

“Well, we have to contact the Revolutionary Army.”

Pops shakes his head.

“That’s easier said than done. Those brats are hard to track.”

Marco grins.

“Not if you know where Baltigo is.”

Pops lets out a surprised laugh and Marco leans back on his shoulder.

Yeah, maybe he will never be rid of the fear that this might be a dream after all, but he has practice fighting his own demons, and this is a battle he is more than willing to fight.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. Please, comment before you go :D


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